Unforgettable
by Kingston Ryan
Summary: Nineteen-year-old Connor has no idea how little he knows about personal relationships until he accidentally breaks into a house and encounters a young woman who he just can't seem to get out of his mind. His uncertainty about these feelings awaken many other questions about who he is, and what kind of person he wants to become. [Connor x OC]
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Connor could barely hear the shouts and the heavy footsteps behind him; the sounds were muffled by the thumping sound of his heart in his ears. It felt like he had been running for ages and no matter where he turned, there were more of them, rallied by their peers and eager to give chase. Sweat poured down the sides of his face and for a brief moment he regretted his coat.

He took a sudden and sharp left into an alley which was empty, and thanked the stars for his late but eventual luck. With great precision he jumped up several crates stacked like stairs and pushed off at the top, grabbing a hanging sign for a tavern and hauling himself on top of it. There were many options for which way to go, but he had to make a decision quickly before his pursuers caught up, and he accepted that what he really needed was somewhere to hide until things calmed down. Trusting nothing but his instincts he gracefully hopped from signpost to signpost, the way he would do in the forest with the trees, taking the alleyway straight ahead as long as it remained clear. The footsteps that had once chased him were quieter and slower now.

_Good, they lost me_, Connor thought to himself, allowing the corner of his mouth to turn up in coy triumph. He had to remind himself not to get too cocky though, or he might put himself in danger all over again, the way he usually did.

"Hey!" A deep voice from below him rumbled. It was a town crier who was certainly loud enough to bring attention down on him. Connor paused, standing on a narrow beam and gripping the edge of a roof with both hands, and glanced behind him. Like a thundering flock of gulls they came running – he could hear them getting close, they must have only been a few blocks away – and he wasted no more time contemplating. He pulled himself up onto the rooftop and picked up his pace again. His boots barely gripped the shingles and despite his quick reflexes, he could feel himself skidding more with every step. He refused to slow down, too filled with pride to entertain the idea that he could fall off a rooftop. No, only the stupid soldiers did that.

With the building coming to an end fairly quickly, Connor readied himself for the leap he would need to take to get to the next roof. He planted and pushed off, but at the last moment his foot slipped, and his jump lost most of its momentum.

He reached out for the next nearest thing, knowing there was no way he'd be able to grab the edge of the roof at this distance. Fortunately, his fingers caught a second-story window sill and his fall ended abruptly. Without thinking too much about what he was doing, mind racing and panting like a dog, he pulled himself into the room the window belonged to and collapsed onto the floor. He lay perfectly still for a few moments until his head cleared, and then he realized what he was doing: lying on his back, vulnerable, exhausted, and in a strange place. He listened for any sounds of movement in the room with his eyes closed and heard nothing. Exercising great caution, he got to his feet and examined his surroundings.

He seemed to be in a bedroom. It was a decent size but absolutely filled with furniture – a bed, a dresser, a trunk, a dressing table with a mirror and a large partition for getting changed – with clothes strewn on the floor. Connor couldn't imagine Achilles letting him throw his clothes all over the room like that. Not that he had many clothes anyway, or needed them for that matter. The bed was unmade with the covers all pushed down at the end and it looked like several pairs of shoes had been kicked underneath. Wax from several candles on the dresser and table was caked along their ornate holders and had formed solid puddles at the base. Jewelry was littered around the candles, hats were hanging from the changing partition and the trunk had been left open to expose some heavy-looking coats and furs for the winter months. Still, even with the mess, the room smelled sweet, like perfume. Connor briefly considered what kind of person would own all these expensive-looking things and then just leave them scattered all over the place. He absent-mindedly picked up the nearest piece of clothing to him on the floor – initially thinking it was a blouse, but when the skirt came with it he realized it was a dress – and turned it over in his hands. It was beautifully made, with hand-beading along the collar. It reminded him of the type of beading his mother would spend weeks intricately weaving into clothing for the women of the tribe. Unexpectedly, Connor felt a strong pang of loneliness, trying not to think of the agony on his mother's face as she lay trapped under that burning log, or about how his entire tribe had been lost to him. He realized he was clutching the dress tightly, crumpling the fabric in his fingers.

"What are you doing!?" A shrill female voice rang through the room and Connor quickly dropped the dress while spinning around to face the source of the sound. Instinctively he placed his hand at his hip, fingers curling around the handle of his tomahawk.

He met eyes with a young woman who looked only a few years younger than him; likely no older than seventeen. She was clutching a parasol in both hands, raised as if she was going to strike him with it but lost the nerve halfway up. Connor opened his mouth to explain himself, to apologize, but no sound came out. He simply stared at her, dumbstruck, taking her appearance in. She had pale blonde hair coiled into a loose bun at the base of her neck, a few stray pieces brushing her cheeks or sticking to her forehead in the heat. Her skin was almost as light as her hair. Even her clothes were pastel; a soft blue blouse tucked into a beige skirt clung to her arms and chest.

"Well?" She seemed to be attempting to sound menacing, but her voice was noticeably shaking. Connor felt terrible for invading her home, and wanted to explain himself so badly, but no matter how many times he opened and closed his mouth, he couldn't force the words out. All he could form was a string of throaty gasps and stammers. Suddenly, her face seemed to soften considerably, and she lowered her parasol.

"Do you… even speak English?"

Connor swallowed hard. "I… uh…" He lowered his eyes. For some reason he was perfectly capable of running on rooftops and driving blades into the necks of men, but in the face of a pretty girl, he found himself completely flustered and – not proudly – afraid.

A loud and sudden crash from the ground floor of the house caused both Connor and the young woman to start. It sounded like the door had been kicked off its hinges and smashed on the floor. Angry, commanding voices were enough to convince Connor that the Red Coats had in fact seen where he ended up and were now only a floor below him, shouting orders at whoever was downstairs to allow a search of the house. He looked to the window where he entered, then to the opposite window, then back to the girl in front of him, who had opened her mouth as if she were about to scream but was so shocked that she lost her voice partway through. There were footsteps on the stairs now; Connor knew he had seconds to leave but still hesitated. He was usually never so indecisive. Something about the pale blonde before him had seemingly taken away every instinct he relied on.

Before he had the chance to contemplate any longer, the bedroom door flew open and smashed into the wall it was connected to. Two soldiers appeared in the opening.

"Halt!" They shouted in unison. Connor did the opposite, and in two leaps ended up on the windowsill opposite the one he came in through. He took a calculated risk to look over his shoulder, at the girl, who was staring back at him, wide-eyed. The soldiers were struggling to get their guns off their backs in the cramped doorframe, giving Connor just enough time to finally press himself enough to get two words out.

"I'm sorry."

Two bullets narrowly missed him, splintering the wall beside him. He quickly jumped from the window, landing precariously on a signpost, and from there jumped onto a few barrels and then onto the street. He wasted no more time looking around – he needed to move, and now. Despite his deep love of heights and the rush of running on rooftops, the street was a much easier surface to achieve high speeds, and he had disappeared from the alley in a matter of seconds.

Connor finally slowed to a brisk walking pace as he reached the edge of the city proper. The farmers on the town's outskirts never really paid him any attention, so even though he kept his hood up, he was no longer paranoid about running into a soldier or having a town crier single him out. He took a few long, deep breaths and considered his earlier encounter. Questions raced through his mind and he felt a strange sense of anxiety despite the soothing surrounding of trees and grass. His reaction time had never been that slow, he had never been unable to speak in someone's presence before, and he had never dawdled in a life-threatening situation just to make pleasantries.

_What is going on with me_, he wondered, gripping a nearby tree branch and hoisting himself up so he could climb from tree to tree. He could feel the rough bark on his skin where he had cut the fingers off of his gloves and a small smile overcame him. No matter how bad he felt, being in the treetops made him feel safe, comforted, and at home. He raised his eyes to the sky for a brief moment and thought of his mother watching over him. It wasn't often he craved his mother's attention, especially now that he was nineteen, thinking himself an adult that could take care without an adult's intervention. Still, there were times where he wished he could go to her for advice. She had been a wise woman – despite her foolish taste in men – and Connor knew she would have guided him properly through anything. Lowering his gaze he felt a bit guilty. Achilles had watched over him well and trained him to be a skilled assassin; there was no real reason to want for his mother. At least, that was what he told himself to keep from feeling heavy with the knowledge that no matter how much he longed to be able to speak with her, or just sit in her company.

He shook his head once to clear it, feeling his loose hair brush against his cheeks. With another deep breath he continued on his way back to the Homestead. His mind drifted back to the blonde girl and her house. She had such big green eyes. He wished she hadn't been staring at him in fear. If only he hadn't been so stupid and been able to tell her what happened; why he was in her house. In her bedroom. _Oh god, I was in her bedroom_. Connor felt heat rush into his face as he realized just how truly invasive his home invasion had been.

Then again, she must not have been that afraid, as she hadn't screamed for help – screamed at all, actually, even when soldiers broke down her door – or hit him, even though it looked like she had at one point intended to. Maybe he wasn't as threatening as he feared. This thought actually caused him to pause in a fir tree, making a face as he realized the implications of thinking that way. If he hadn't even scared an unarmed young woman, maybe he wasn't the vicious assassin he thought himself to be. He imagined Achilles laughing softly but triumphantly at this admission of inferiority. Ever defiant, he straightened his back and jumped to a tree further than he knew he should have, purposely acting boldly as a step to prove to himself that he was just as strong, brave and competent as any assassin in the Brotherhood. He remained unconvinced, barely catching the branch he was aiming for, but he would never let Achilles, or anyone, know that.

Vainly, he attempted to push thoughts of the girl in the blue blouse out of his mind. Until today only the thought of his training and hunting down the Templars had stuck in his head for so long. He let out a sigh through his nose and hopped to a lower branch, having noticed a pair of foxes playfully running through the grass. He held his position to watch them. The creatures made little barking noises as they chased each other through clover and flowers, allowing the perfume-y aroma of spring to waft into Connor's nose. It had been some time since he had been able to appreciate the beauty of nature without being preoccupied about spilling someone's blood. As the foxes jumped on one another, Connor wondered if there was something in the air causing him to feel so strange.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"But Achilles, I didn't mean to…"

"What you meant to do means nothing, Connor. What you have done is all that matters. And you know better than to enter an innocent person's home, especially not when your identity could be put in jeopardy, as well as her life. The soldiers saw you with that girl – she could be held for questioning if they believe she was harboring or helping you to escape."

Connor's gaze immediately fell to the floor as he thought about his actions potentially causing that young woman any trouble. He pictured her in one of their grimy prison cells, shivering, her blonde hair loose and dirty as she awaits a trial. His teeth clenched tightly together at the image. With a deep breath he squeezed his eyes tightly shut and shook his head sharply, trying to convince himself that Achilles was purposely trying to make him think of the worst possible scenario in order to reinforce the lesson. When he opened his eyes, his mentor was looking at him with a slightly softened expression. Still, the old man wagged his finger in Connor's direction as he continued milling around the room.

"You should probably stay clear of that house for some time. Actually, that entire section of the town should likely be avoided."

"Avoided?" Against his better judgment, Connor started to protest, and heard disappointment ringing clearly in his own voice. "But… but…" Once again he was stammering to find words.

"But nothing, Connor. We don't endanger the innocent."

"I… there was no… they were after me! They barely looked at her!"

Achilles arched his eyebrow. "You explained they broke down the door of her home, and left two bullets in the wall of this young maiden's bedroom."

"Well, yes…"

"And you have no possible way to know if she has been taken in by the Red Coats or the Templars as a possible aid to a fugitive and Assassin?"

"Well, no…"

"Then my point stands, I'm afraid."

"Achilles, you're being unfair! I am perfectly capable, I see no reason why I shouldn't have free run of the city. They didn't catch me this time and they won't catch me next time. The residents of that house can convince the guards they had nothing to do with my being there!"

"Connor," Achilles lowered himself onto the velvety red couch carefully. "Listen to yourself. Why on earth are you contesting this so strongly?"

The young man struggled to keep a straight face as he contemplated how to answer. He could feel his mentor observing every tic, every blink, every uncomfortable adjustment he made, but once again couldn't come up with the words. However, it seemed he didn't need to, because a strong look of understanding suddenly washed across Achilles' face.

"Don't go being foolish. There are more important tasks at hand."

Connor opened his mouth to continue the argument, but the way Achilles' lips tightened made him reconsider. He knew there was no winning against the old man who still thought him too young and naïve to understand the world around him. It was frustrating, and while Connor tried to rationalize in his head that Achilles was only looking out for his best interests, he couldn't help but feel that there was some self-serving purpose to keep his trainee on a predetermined path. Either way, Connor closed his mouth and simply told himself that what Achilles didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Very well."

"Good boy," Achilles tapped his cane on the floor emphatically. "Bring me a drink, would you?"

Connor moved about his bedroom silently, having memorized every creaky floorboard and uneven patch in the floor. He hadn't even closed his eyes when he got into bed hours earlier, even though he recognized that not sleeping made him sluggish and dull. Thoughts whipped around in his head; from his training, to his father, and most importantly to the blonde girl. He needed to make sure she hadn't been taken in for questioning. Later, he would need to apologize. As he pulled on his clothing he silently mouthed the words he intended to say to her: who he was, what he was doing, how he had ended up in her room, and why he was so sorry for invading her home. As soon as he confirmed she was alright, he would return the next day to have their conversation.

As he placed a foot on his windowsill, ready to climb down the outer paneling of the house, he cast a glance back at his tomahawk lying on the bedside table. He had consciously left it when he was getting dressed, telling himself that under cover of darkness, and doing nothing but peering through a window, he shouldn't have any need for a weapon. Still, he disliked the idea of going anywhere completely unarmed, and with a heavy sigh, he retrieved his tomahawk and secured it tightly in his belt.

The night air was cool on Connor's face as he rode his favourite of Achilles' mounts along the pathway back to Boston. With his hood down, the wind blew his loose hair around his face like a mane, and sometimes the beads woven into the strands near the front slapped against his cheek. It felt good to be doing something of his own accord for a change, instead of following orders and doing repetitive training under someone else's eye. Even though he wore the white coat of an assassin, he considered himself in this moment free – just a nineteen year old making a decision for himself. The sound of branches snapping under the horse's hooves as they rode reminded Connor of his childhood hunting trips, and how many prey he had lost to a careless foot placed on a twig. For a fleeting second he wondered what he'd have turned out like if he had continued to grow up among his tribe. If his mother hadn't been killed. If he'd never met Charles Lee, or learned about his father's true identity.

He shook his head very slightly to clear it of thought. _There's no going back there; there's no sense wondering about it_.

Connor pulled his mount to a slow walk as he neared the city's limits, and dismounted while it was still moving. He used the reins to tether it to a thick tree and continued along the path on foot until he could see the shapes and shadows of houses in the moonlight. He pulled his hood up and touched his tomahawk out of instinct. There were guards patrolling not too far ahead; their uniforms were easily identifiable, even in the dark. Connor moved out of sight, watching their movements. Easy enough to evade if they kept to the pattern. He crept through an enclosure where some kind of vegetables had been planted and made his way over to the farmhouse, scaling the building and crouching momentarily on the side of the roof. Even with the guards below him, he'd be invisible from the rooftops, and he relaxed.

It took him a few attempts to remember exactly where the house was, especially since he had initially encountered it by accident. Eventually he recognized the window frame, and clambered up the side of the adjacent building to see into the bedroom.

"Iah tewake'nikonhraien-ta's," He muttered under his breath when he realized the curtains were drawn. The whole point of this outing was to be quick and simple, but he needed to know she was alright. He hesitated only a moment before carefully leaping to the roof that belonged to the blonde girl's house, and climbing quietly down to her bedroom window. Gripping the top of the frame with one hand, he reached forward and parted the curtains slightly. The room was too dark for him to see anything properly – even with his trained eyes – and he winced slightly as he pulled the fabric back even further. _Waking her up would be all I need right about now. Achilles would never let me hear the end of it, and I'd probably terrify her._

He didn't have to worry for long. She wasn't in her bed. There was no one in the room. Connor felt his heart sink into his stomach and almost lost his grip on the frame. There was a momentary glimmer of hope that maybe she was on the ground floor of the house, and letting his curiosity get the better of him, the young man eased himself through the window. The way the floor creaked under his feet drove him insane despite his vain attempts to remind himself that he didn't know this building the way he knew the Homestead.

He glanced around the room and confirmed it was exactly as he had left it, right down to the dress he had absent-mindedly picked up. The bed was still unmade, giving him no indication whether or not she'd been previously in it or not.

Connor paused at her doorway to listen. The stairs led directly down into pitch blackness, and nothing but silence greeted him. Slowly, deliberately, he made his way down the stairs in a couched position, suddenly aware of how much his white jacket stood out in the otherwise dark home. At the bottom of the stairs, there was still no sound. A closed door stood to his right, and otherwise the living area was empty. He supposed the door lead to another bedroom and contemplated opening it. _What if she's sleeping on the floor because she's scared to be alone?_ Connor wondered, the guilt eating away him from the inside. There was no question that he had to confirm she was alright.

As soon as he pushed the door open, Connor felt the pangs of regret for not listening to Achilles. If he hadn't come here, he could have put the entire matter out of his mind and moved on to what were considered more important matters. More training. But now he faced a completely empty room: a clean room with a neatly made bed. Nobody was here. The house was empty.

Connor's teeth came together hard. There was a fire in his chest and his head swam with the possibilities. He allowed himself the momentary pleasure of considering that maybe the entire ordeal had forced them to go visit some aunt or grandparent in New York, or even to just stay with a neighbor for a night or two. But he sensed things were grimmer than that. Nothing in the house felt right; there was an eerie quality to the air, and a rug on the floor had been disturbed, as if there had been a struggle near the front door.

The holding cells for those awaiting trial was on the other side of town, and Connor thought over his options. Achilles would notice him missing almost immediately in the morning, and there was no way he would get back in time if he went all the way across Boston. Even now he was pressed for time if he wanted to go completely undiscovered. However, he was also convinced that something was seriously wrong and that it was his duty to correct it, considering it was he who had gotten innocent people mixed up in the assassins' business. Connor ran his fingers over the handle of his tomahawk and was suddenly grateful he'd brought it along. He glanced down at his hidden blade as well – often forgetting he had it strapped to his forearm – and decided that he was equipped enough to covertly get in and out of the court's holding cells. Whether or not he'd be able to break the blonde girl and whoever was with her out tonight was another question, but right now all that he could think about was making sure she was alive and unharmed. He would never be able to forgive himself if someone hurt such a delicate and beautiful person.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Connor squinted in the new daylight, perched on the wall that barricaded the town's holding cells. The sun was just barely visible over the rooftops and cast long shadows onto the ground below. Connor considered how much time he might have before the shadows got shorter, removing the only cover he'd have in the yard. He couldn't foresee a way to climb down inside the building, so crossing the yard ahead of him was really the only option.

He landed on three points with a soft thud, pausing a moment to scan the area. Confident that no one had noticed him so far, he got to his feet – keeping a deep bend in his knees – and moved towards the back door of the building. There were no windows on this side, and Connor sensed relatively little movement coming from inside. _Are there even any guards here at all?_ He wondered, smirking at little at the thought that they might all still be asleep this early in the morning. His joy was quickly quashed however, realizing that Achilles would be waking up with the light, and would make short time noticing that Connor was missing. The young man tried to put his mentor's wrath out of his mind for the time being. He had already made his choice.

With one hand on the door handle, pressing his shoulder against the wood, Connor gave a gentle push. The door opened a crack. He held his breath, waiting for a guard to come investigate, and flexed his free hand to feel the blade mechanism taught on his wrist. When nothing happened, he slowly exhaled and pushed the door a bit further. Still nothing came. Connor was starting to worry that he hadn't encountered a single obstacle so far in this quest to find the blonde girl. It set him on edge and he felt uneasy in the pit of his stomach, no matter how much he attempted to ignore it. Finally he had opened the door completely, letting it swing open of its own accord while he kept his shoulder braced against the edge of the frame. There was a shuffling sound from inside. Footsteps. Connor felt a release of tension in his chest. The footsteps were slow, likely belonging to a guard who had been sleeping on the job and was awakened by the sound of the door scraping against the floor. As the guard approached Connor's position, the assassin flicked his wrist to release his blade. When the silhouette of a man with the telltale hat of a loyalist came into view, Connor left him no time to react before swiftly grabbing him by the collar and throwing him to the ground. The man opened his mouth to shout but it was silenced by the gurgles of blood in his throat as Connor's blade was driven deep into his jugular. The young man withdrew his blade quickly, wiping it on his pants before standing straight. Listening intently for another guard, Connor was satisfied when none came, and cautiously entered the building.

The room was poorly lit, especially since it appeared that there were no windows at all. _No sunlight… must be to keep the prisoners weak._ Connor's mouth tightened as he inched forward through the dim hallway. He could see the opening ahead, where the cells were, lined with brighter burning torches. As he crept further along he became increasingly aware of the sound his boots made on the stone beneath him, and was careful not to lose his footing on the uneven floor. The light from the torches illuminated the first few cells in his range of sight; there were dark shapes curled up on thin piles of hay in the corner of each, which Connor soon recognized as sleeping prisoners.

He approached the fist cell with great caution and a little dread, but the figure there was quite obviously male. Definitely not the blonde girl he sought. Still, it crossed his mind that it was likely many of the captives didn't deserve to be here. Taking a long breath and holding it in, Connor reminded himself that he was here for a very specific purpose and couldn't afford to be distracted by questionable morality. That could come later. He gave a quick glance left and right – ensuring no more guards were on their way – and moved on.

_I wish I knew her name_, he thought, absent-mindedly embarrassed that he was working so hard to save someone whose name he didn't even know. _I wish I could call out to her. That would speed this up._ Logically he knew yelling would be unwise, but the air was thick and damp and the risk of getting caught grew with every passing minute. He walked by cell after cell of dark, unmoving bodies without recognizing a single one. He could feel himself being overcome with anxiety that she might not be here after all, and all this effort was for nothing. _No, she has to be here, there isn't anywhere else for them to take her_. Connor approached the last two cells with an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. Looking to one, and then the other, his heart sank when the first cell was empty and the second contained another man. He lifted his fist, ready to punch the wall out of frustration, before he realized how much he had been overcome by emotion and steadied himself.

_Think, Connor_, he told himself, looking around for any indication of where to go next. The door of the empty cell was slightly ajar: maybe the blonde girl had been here briefly but moved somewhere during the night. It was a long shot but she was young and female, while it seemed all the other prisoners were men. If the loyalists controlling the building were merciful, they may have brought her somewhere private. Where was her family though? Who lived with her? There had been another bedroom at the house, presumably a parent's. Was one of the men in here her father? Connor's head swam with too many questions – he needed to get back on track. He needed to find her and leave before he got himself into more trouble.

At the opposite end of the hallway there was a staircase. When Connor approached the bottom step, he could hear low voices coming from the second floor. _No footsteps. They must be sitting down_. He strained to hear the conversation in order to count the number of voices, and settled on three. He palmed the top of his tomahawk and ran through a plan in his head. _If I take one out before they notice me, I can probably handle fighting two at once…_ But he was hesitating. He cast a glance back at the door he had come through from the yard, still open and allowing yellow sunlight to leak in, and wavered on his decision to press forward. If he had brought heat down on himself from the incident yesterday, this escapade could become a flaming inferno if he got caught. He shook his head, feeling his loose, shoulder-length hair brush against his cheeks, before pulling up his hood and replacing his sense of doubt with a firm resolution. _No one is going to catch me, and there won't be anyone left to tell the city guards._ Connor smirked.

Warm blood sprayed out of the last guard's neck as soon as Connor withdrew his blade and the quick burst splashed across the young man's face and hood. He ignored it and held perfectly still for a moment, waiting for something – anything – to go wrong. Nothing happened. He relaxed his body a bit and took in his surroundings. There was a door to both sides of the dining area he currently stood in, and another set of stairs going up just behind him. Trying to ease his heavy breathing from the combat he slowly moved to the door at his right. He could hear nothing, and, deciding to consider all of his options before engaging anything else, walked over to the door at his left.

It seemed the decision was made for him. As he pressed his ear against the old, cracked wood of the door, he could hear soft, feminine sobs coming from inside. Connor's heart starting pumping wildly with excitement that he had finally found her. Without thinking at all, he flung the door open.

A pair of large green eyes met his as the door thudded against the wall of the tiny bedroom. The blonde girl was sitting on the bed, her legs hanging off one side, her hair pulled loose from its bun and falling over her shoulders. Her pale face was stained with salty streaks but she had stopped crying the moment Connor opened the door. He was frozen on the spot, taking in her appearance, trying to discern if she had been injured. Her wrists were tied together and tied to the frame of the bed, but with plenty of slack so she could move around a bit. The skirt of the white nightgown she wore was torn on one side in long, purposeful tears. _Someone must have tried to rip it right off her, that's why she's up here and not in the cells_, Connor rationalized, grinding his teeth at the idea that someone would try to harm an innocent girl.

"What are you doing here?" Her words snapped Connor out of his trance and he quickly refocused on her face. "Who are you, anyway?"

"My name is Connor," He spoke without really thinking, suddenly finding his voice as the urgency of their situation dawned on him, and shut the door behind him. "I came here to find you."

"Find me?" Her voice sounded choked, like she was holding back more tears. "You don't even know me. How did you know I was here? And oh my goodness, you have blood all over your face! What happened out there?"

Connor came up beside her as she spoke, and knelt down while extending his hidden blade. She jumped a little at the _snick_ sound it made on release. He was uncertain how to answer her without sounding completely crazy, so he attempted to stall by cutting the rope and then setting to work on untying her wrists. She held still, and didn't seem to be afraid of him. He was glad for that.

"I'm Emma," She finally said, once Connor freed her hands. He watched her rub the raw skin with both hands and then met his eyes again. "Thank you."

"We need to leave."

"But… my home…" Emma didn't budge. "They know where I live. And my uncle…"

"I'll have to come back for him," The young man was starting to get concerned. Daylight would have completely broken by now and it was too quiet. More guards would certainly be showing up for the shift change and the pile of dead bodies he had left in the dining area wasn't exactly subtle. However, Emma still wasn't moving.

"You haven't told me how you found me."

Connor had already been walking back to the door, but he stopped dead in his tracks at her words. He sighed quietly, realizing there was little option other than to be honest. But this really wasn't the time to have that conversation.

"I will explain it to you, once we leave," He opened the door a crack and peered out, then turned back to face her. "I promise."

"I really think you need to explain it now," Her tone was soft but firm, and in fairness to her, it was an extremely strange situation. "I mean, first you're in my house, then the city guard breaks down my door chasing after you… Then suddenly I'm being dragged from my home and thrown into a horrible dark cell. Now you're standing in front of me again. I don't understand, and I'd like to. Please."

Connor could feel himself faltering. He was getting that strange tightness in his chest again, his throat was closing up, his breathing became laboured. The way her hair embraced her neck and shoulders and the way her eyes glimmered with the remainder of tears made him feel weak and uneasy. He couldn't decide if he liked the feeling or not.

"Connor."

The sound of his name on her lips gave him goosebumps. "I… I ended up in your room because of my own mistake. I was attempting to jump from roof to roof and I slipped. The first thing I caught as I was falling was your windowsill, and I pulled myself inside." He considered himself like that the more he spoke to her, the easier words came to him.

"What? Why on earth were you jumping on the rooftops?"

"I was running from the city guard."

"Why?"

Connor exhaled through his nose, starting to feel impatient. "It's complicated. Anyway, I felt like something bad may have happened once I got back to the country, and it seemed my obligation to ensure you weren't in any trouble with the law, since I had caused that trouble in the first place."

"And you found me here?"

"Where else would they bring you?" He glanced out the door again. "Now, can we continue this conversation another time?"

She seemed satisfied with that answer for now and got to her feet. Connor did a quick once-over and was glad to see she was wearing night slippers. _Good, I won't have to carry her_. All the same, she was wearing a nightgown, and their presence in the street wouldn't exactly go unnoticed. He knew that if they could cross the street, and get to the rooftop, he could safely lead her back to where he'd left his horse with little notice. There would be enough bustle on the street by this point to cover any noise they'd make, and the nighttime rooftop guards would be long dispatched. There was just one problem with that plan, and only one way Connor could think to fix it. Without giving Emma any warning, he knelt down in front of her and gripped the fabric of her nightgown. In one movement he tore a large chunk of it clean off, leaving her with a dress that ended at her knees.

"Connor! What…!"

He got to his feet and took her by the hand. "You're going to need to be able to climb."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Connor did his best not to think about the smoothness of Emma's skin against his palm as he led her by the hand across the street. He was careful to evade bumping into anyone, and she was quiet as a mouse behind him. While he assumed they were raising a few eyebrows, nobody stopped them or said anything, and with his hood pulled up most of the blood splatter was hidden.

Once they had reached the shadowy alleyway across from the holding cells, Connor looked over his shoulder at Emma and gestured to a pile of crates stacked against the nearest wall. There was a flash of fear and uncertainty in her eyes.

"It's alright," He assured her in a low voice. "I'll be right behind you."

She didn't hesitate after that and immediately began climbing up the boxes. The young man internally remarked at how nimble she was, scurrying over one and then the other like she had been doing it her entire life, then quickly followed suit, taking two at a time so they reached the top of the pile at approximately the same moment. Without thinking about his actions being misconstrued he grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her into the air so she could grab the edge of the rooftop. A small squeak of surprise escaped her but she otherwise didn't protest. Connor jumped and caught the eaves, pulling himself onto the roof with no difficulty, but Emma was still struggling. Her slight frame made it easy for him to kneel down and help her up alongside him. Now on the roof, the assassin breathed a long sigh of relief.

"Now what?" Emma whispered, and though Connor could have sworn she sounded a little bit excited, he couldn't read her face since she was facing away from him, gazing out over the city skyline.

"I'm going to bring you back to the homestead, where you'll be safe."

"What's that?"

"My home."

"Yes, I gathered…" She spun around to look right at him, blond locks lilting gently in the cool morning breeze. "I suppose I meant _where's_ that."

"How about I just show you?" He replied, suddenly unnerved. There was a ruckus coming from the building across the street, and town criers were already pooling near the entrance, presumably ready to call for more guards any second. They needed to leave.

"But how…"

"Rooftops, remember?" He smirked a little, confident that his athletics would impress her. _Wait, we're presumably about to run for our lives, and I'm thinking about how that will impress her?_ Connor felt a little shame in that moment; it was the same feeling he got when Achilles scolded him. But there was no time to worry about that now. He pointed the direction they needed to go, and thankfully it wasn't too precarious. The first jump they'd have to make was to the next house over, but there was a long overhang that significantly shortened the distance.

"I can't…" Emma stared at him, directly into his eyes, as if she was looking for something. He felt his heartbeat speed up and his ears start to go hot, but for lack of knowing how to respond, he simply stared back at her for a long moment until he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked down at the ground for a moment – Connor felt himself ache for her gaze again – and then suddenly turned on her heel and started sprinting towards the edge of the roof. Connor froze.

The young woman sailed through the air briefly before landing indelicately on the next rooftop, her feet wide apart and her arms flailing to keep balanced. Now Connor was the one who was impressed as he shook himself out of his daze and ran after her, though he landed much more gently.

"That was brave," He remarked, but she didn't respond. As soon as he came up beside her she took off again, this time crossing a precariously-placed plank of wood to get to the next building. Her tiny feet were certainly advantageous for that sort of thing, since she was able to maintain her quick speed when she dashed across it, while Connor had to go much slower, carefully planting each foot to ensure his weight wouldn't cause him to spill onto the street below.

They walked side-by-side to the edge of the rooftop, since even Emma seemed to have gathered that this jump would be trickier than the last. The next house was a short, fat building, and its roof was significantly lower than the one they stood on now. Just as Connor was about to give her instructions for how there were going to proceed, there was a large commotion of guards on the street, yelling and asking people if they had seen someone break out of the prison. The young man pulled Emma down to a kneeling position so they wouldn't be seen if someone happened to look up, and though he didn't exactly mean to, he kept a gentle grip on her forearm. She didn't protest it. Finally, after several intense minutes of waiting in silence, the guards moved on.

"Alright, I'm going to go first," Connor tilted his head so that he spoke directly into Emma's ear, just in case anyone was listening. In spite of having spent the night in jail and being a little dirty from the climb, she smelled excellent. He pulled back sharply – he didn't want her to notice his observation, or worse, for her to think that he was intentionally trying to get too close to her – which elicited a confused look from her but nothing else. Cautiously he got to his feet, trying to ignore the thudding in his chest, and moved from his crouched position over to the edge of the roof before jumping down. He clicked his tongue in disapproval; his landing wasn't as graceful as it could have been. He was letting himself get too easily distracted. Putting the thought out of his mind as much as possible, he straightened his back and looked up at Emma standing on the eaves. Connor planted his feet firmly, digging his leather boots into the abrasive surface of the shingles. Once he felt sturdy enough, he opened his arms wide and gestured with his hands for her to come forward, praying that everything went as he imagined it. She hesitated for a second, and then pushed off from the ledge.

Emma's slender body landed perfectly between Connor's arms, which he used to quickly grab her and hold tight before she slipped out of his grip. He could feel she had grabbed his jacket on impact and she was still clinging to it, shaking a little, probably from the adrenaline. Her head was pressed near where his neck met his shoulder. He took a few deep breaths and held her there for moment, trying to keep his own body from shaking with exhilaration at the new sensation of physical contact beyond the occasional pat on the back from Achilles.

"Good job," He breathed, releasing her with a certain amount of regret. "I _am_ sorry to put you through this. I'm sure it's nothing like what you're used to."

Connor thought he might be imagining things, but it felt like Emma took a second or two longer to let go of his jacket than she needed once her feet touched down on the rooftop. Her eyes were bright as a small smile broke out on her pale face.

"Actually…" She bit down on her lower lip for a moment before continuing. "In spite of my earlier concerns – and ignoring my concerns about the immediate future – I'm quite enjoying myself in all this. I never thought I'd do something so exciting in all my life."

There were so many things Connor wanted to reply with, or ask her about, but now wasn't the time. He would have her back at the homestead soon enough, where she'd be safe, and there they could rest and he would have plenty of time to learn all about this mystery girl who he'd suddenly found himself so fascinated with. _Assuming, of course, that Achilles doesn't lock me in the basement for the rest of my life for going out of my way to disobey him… or just kill me_. He smirked with irony at his own thought, and then shook his head to clear it. They needed to keep moving.

"You'll have to wait here for a minute," Connor instructed Emma as he helped her dismount from his horse upon reaching the homestead. "And I'll bring you something to change into, since I'm sure that's not very comfortable."

"Why do I have to wait out here?" Emma folded her arms.

Connor averted his gaze. "Uh…"

"Well?"

"It's… um… It's just that…"

"Conner!" An all-too-familiar voice bellowed from behind them, causing the young man to flinch at the sound. "Connor, may mercy find you once I've finished…"

Achilles trailed off his thought when Connor turned to face him, revealing the slight blonde girl he had previously been blocking from view. While Connor didn't think he had ever heard Achilles sound so mad, the expression that crossed his face as he registered just who this girl was and why she was here was terrifying all on its own. The older man composed himself, straightening his jacket before coming down off the porch. Connor opened his mouth to say something – even if he didn't know what he intended to say – but Achilles pushed right past him, pressing his hand into Connor's chest hard enough for the assassin to need to take a step back in order to regain his balance.

"My dear, please forgive my use of a harsh tone in your presence," He extended the arm that wasn't leaning on his cane to her, which she took. "You look like you've had a rough night. Why don't you accompany me inside and I'll have the maid find you something to put on. We certainly can't have you running about dressed like that; you'll catch your death. Come now."

"Achilles…" Connor tried, following after them for a few steps; however, Achilles half-turned at the door to the house and blocked the entrance with his cane.

"You," The old man's voice was filled with ice. "Can wait outside until I come back."

Connor didn't bother arguing, knowing it would only make his situation worse. Emma glanced over her shoulder at him as Achilles led her inside, but he couldn't see enough of her face to make out what was going through her mind.

_What was I thinking?_ Connor paced the length of the porch, cracking his knuckles nervously. _I went against everything Achilles told me, and why? I don't know even know Emma, and she doesn't know me. What deluded idea am I giving myself with all this? Achilles is never going to let me become a master assassin if I can't follow simple instructions._ He then thought about Emma sitting in that room in the prison building, tied to the bed, crying. His heart skipped a beat thinking what could have happened to her if he hadn't come along. As he continued pacing, his thoughts drifted to the day he lost his mother, the image of her trapped under the burning log etched into his memory. Suddenly the thought of giving up his future to save a single life didn't seem so ludicrous. After all, he knew he would do anything to be able to go back and save his mother, and he could just imagine the guilt he would have felt if he had left Emma in jail. He decided that whatever Achilles was going to do to punish him, it wouldn't be worse than how abandoning her would feel. _Still, what's my plan in all of this?_ He thought, annoyed with himself that for all his years of training to plan ahead, he had rushed into this entire situation with no end game in mind. But then his thoughts began to wander back to catching Emma when she'd jumped off the roof, and remembered the strange electric sensation of holding her against his body. _That moment alone almost makes all of this worth it. Not that I know what's going to happen when Achilles comes back. Not that I have even a shred of proof that Emma wants to spend any time with me beyond her rescue and finding her uncle_. Connor let out a long sigh and leaned on the railing of the porch, savoring the feeling of wind on his face. If Achilles did decide to lock him in the basement after everything was done, he would want to remember this feeling.


	5. Chapter 5

"Have you lost your mind, Connor?!" Achilles' voice was low and dangerous, which was worse, in Connor's mind, that being yelled at. He had been told not to speak unless specifically instructed, so he kept his teeth clenched tight, feeling the pressure ache at the back of his jaw. Achilles had taken away his jacket and his hidden blade and had presumably stored them away in one of the homestead's many closets or cabinets. Connor knew that this was partially an exercise in humiliation; if he was shamed enough, maybe he wouldn't be inclined to ever repeat the behavior. Not that he intended to repeat something like this ever again. If it weren't for Emma, he probably never would have done it in the first place either.

"I told you it was too dangerous. I told you to stay away from that area. I told you to forget about that girl and her family," He stopped for a deep breath before continuing. "Did you not think you had caused enough trouble as it was? Your first mistake wasn't enough?"

Connor opened his mouth to defend his actions, forgetting himself for a moment. Too occupied with that image of Emma crying on the bed. Achilles raised a hand like he meant to slap his protégé, but then lowered it when Connor snapped his mouth shut again, bowing his head.

"What on earth was your plan? What did you plan to do with that girl once you rescued her? Did you think out any part of this in advance, or were you just ruled by some… some…" Achilles paused, obviously trying to think of exactly the right word. "…juvenile urges?" Connor squirmed, uncomfortable with the idea that all of this was due to some kind of out-of-control hormonal swing. _No, it's about doing what's right_, he repeated in his head. _She was in danger. I couldn't have left her there when I was the one who got her put there, even if it was an accident_.

"What are we going to do with this girl now? We can't very well send her back to the city after she's escaped prison! She'll be considered a felon!"

Connor bit down on his tongue.

"Did you expect her to live here with us forever?"

The young man looked at his lap, knowing that the questions were rhetorical but wanting to scream that no; he hadn't expected any of this to happen. He didn't plan that far ahead, and he supposed that was his ultimate downfall.

His mind drifted to a story Achilles had told him in the early days of training about a brash and bold young man who had been a Master Assassin but let his arrogance get the better of him. _Altair Ibn-La Ahad_, Connor remembered. _He had to earn his way back up from the bottom after having everything stripped away from him. He was reduced to nothing._ But it wasn't as if Connor had done the things that Altair had done: Altair had gotten his own assassin brothers killed through his pride, and Connor had merely rescued one helpless girl. _Well, not totally helpless._ He fought back a grin, thinking about how bravely she had leapt from the rooftops with hardly any hesitation. _Still, I don't deserve the punishment he got. And I sure hope Achilles feels the same way_.

"Are you even listening to me?" The abrasive voice shook Connor out of his thoughts and made him snap his head up to look straight into Achilles' face. He opened his mouth again and hesitated: he hadn't directly been told to speak. After a moment, he quietly replied,

"I'm sorry."

Achilles clicked his tongue, but his disposition seemed to soften a bit. "I just don't know what to do, Connor. What would you do in my position?"

"I…" He paused again, but it seemed safe to continue. "I don't know."

"That's not good enough."

"Well, we need to find her uncle. I'm sure he can keep her safe."

"Has she mentioned where he is?"

Connor winced. "He was in prison too."

"Oh my…" Achilles heaved a sigh and shook his head. "I'll have someone look into his situation, but I'm not about to go breaking someone out of jail and I better not catch you breaking anyone else out either, or so help me."

"I won't," The young man replied quickly. He may have made some bad choices but he certainly wasn't stupid. At least, he wanted to believe he wasn't.

"Now, as for you…"

Connor bit down on the inside of his cheeks, dreading what would come next.

"I'm not going to be sending you away for some time. I won't be asking you to complete anything for me except for chores around the homestead. You will not be allowed access to any of the weapons or equipment I provided to you and you won't leave the property with the exception of going to the river for water. You clearly aren't prepared to follow specific instructions and I regret to say that you have seriously broken my trust."

"I understand."

"You may understand in theory, but discipline takes work, Connor. If you truly want to follow in the footsteps of a Master Assassin you have to exercise better judgment."

"Yes sir."

"And as for the girl…"

"Emma."

"What?"

"Her name is Emma."

Achilles gave him a hard look but continued. "As for Emma, she'll stay here until we can figure out what to do, with her uncle or otherwise. However…" There was a long silence before the older man spoke again. "I think it would be the best decision for everyone involved if you and she had little to no interaction. You've already done enough damage to the poor girl."

"Damage?!" Connor found himself on his feet before he knew what he was doing. "I saved her! I did the right thing! She was in danger! She could have been…"

"I don't want to hear it. To be honest I don't care. It wasn't your place. How many guards did you kill getting in and out of that building?"

"Well…"

"Connor."

"Four."

"You see? Did you hear nothing when I was training you? Do you not remember the stories I told you about Altair?"

Connor bit back his knowing smile at those words.

"Altair only became a master again because he corrected his mistakes in growing humble and remembering to put The Creed before his pride. Don't make me put you through what Al Mualim – traitor though he was – put Altair through. Don't make me re-educate you, I haven't the years or the patience for that. I know you have the potential. Please, do as you're told."

There was a long, tense moment of nothing between them as Connor stared straight ahead, past Achilles and at the wall. He was contemplating how the next few – weeks, months? – would go for him, especially with being forbidden to be around Emma. Then his mind drifted to what would come of her too: if they found her uncle would he take her away, would she be sent away anyway, or would she stay at the homestead, forever present but just out of reach.

"Now," Achilles said, straightening his back and leaning on his cane with both hands. "Tell me the first tenant of the Creed."

Connor sighed a little, regretting it when Achilles narrowed his eyes. "Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent."

"Yes. You know it wrong to kill those guards in the prison. They can be a symptom of corruption but in this case were only doing their jobs. No harm came to Emma during her stay and she told me in fact that they removed her from the more dangerous cell," Achilles drew a little closer to the young man before he continued. "Now, with less attitude this time: tell me the second tenant."

"Hide in plain sight," Connor spoke as flatly as he could.

"Correct. You don't go breaking into buildings and running across rooftops where you're clearly out of place. You need to blend into your surroundings, and more importantly, you must seem to appear from nowhere and disappear just as quickly."

"But no one saw…"

"Don't be arrogant. There's nothing to say no one saw you."

The assassin bowed his head with a curt nod.

"Now the third tenant."

"Never compromise the Brotherhood."

Achilles reached forward and pressed a finger into Connor's forehead. "You see, I knew you were listening when I taught you all of this. I can't understand why you would do the exact opposite of everything you were told when you have so much promise. I know there's a fire inside you but if you can't control it you'll never truly be able to serve a purpose. Don't waste yourself on foolishness, Connor. You may have broken my trust but I haven't lost my faith in you."

A bizarre feeling stirred in Connor's stomach that he was sure he hadn't felt since he was last happy with his mother. The combination of discipline and the glimmer of hope was strangely reassuring and it put him a bit more at ease. Still, at the very back of his mind, an image of Emma's smiling face distracted him. He would just have to do his best to ignore it until he had more information about where she would end up. He just hoped he would get another opportunity to talk to her, to get to know her, even if it meant going behind Achilles' back one more time.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Connor absent-mindedly paced the main hallway of the homestead's second floor. Even though a dusting rag dangled loosely from his right hand, he wasn't using it to do anything; instead his mind was wandering. It had been a week since Achilles took away all of his assassin-related possessions, and he was itching for the action and excitement that accompanied owning them. Since he wasn't allowed to leave the property he had no outlet for his energy: he missed running through the forest, he missed the spray of the small waterfalls just outside the Boston town limits, he even missed dodging town criers and guards by scaling walls and fences.

He turned on his heel and made his way back down the hallway, his moccasins skidding slightly on the hardwood when he made the sharp turn. His thoughts also went back to Emma, and how he'd barely seen her in the past week, even though she was living at the homestead while Achilles tried to covertly make arrangements to get her uncle out of jail. The plan to keep the two of them apart was well-placed, much to Connor's annoyance. The two maids, Anne and Charlotte, employed at the homestead were fluttering around her constantly – presumably under Achilles' instruction – as she helped them with chores or relaxed. He had caught a glance of her through the window three days earlier when he was rearranging the furniture in the parlor and she was outside in the garden, but Anne must have noticed their eyes meet because Emma was quickly ushered out of sight. Yesterday he only saw the back of her as she was going into her bedroom from the bath. Her blonde hair looked a dark gold from the water, leaving dark spots on the dressing gown she had been provided. He wanted to say something to her, explain the situation better than he was sure Achilles had, but as soon as he opened his mouth a lump formed in his throat and her door was shut before he could even force out her name.

When he arrived at the end of the hallway for what seemed like the hundredth time, he stopped and leaned his elbows against the windowsill. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so… mopey. He had been angry, sad, vengeful, lost… but now he felt dejected. He shifted uncomfortably under his loose-fitting linen shirt, the heat causing sweat to bead up on his skin. His eyes scanned the landscape beyond the glass he stood behind, admiring all the trees and rocks he couldn't climb. Inside the house the summer heat was suffocating, but outside he would bake in the sun all day if it meant fresh air and movement.

Movement below the window suddenly caught Connor's eye and he leaned forward, his forehead touching the glass. Emma had come around the side of the house and was walking along the path that ran along the back of the homestead. _She's alone_, he realized, _she's completely alone_. He watched as she crouched beside a patch of daffodils and gingerly began picking them. Faster than he anticipated, Connor rushed to the staircase and leaned so far over the banister that if his balance wasn't so precise he probably would have toppled over it. He was able to confirm that both Anne and Charlotte were in the kitchen preparing dinner, and he knew Achilles had gone into town. Adrenaline shot through the young man's body like lightning and before he knew what he was doing he had dropped the dust rag on the floor and pushed the window open. With catlike agility he leapt onto the windowsill and grasped the edge of the rooftop, pulled himself up and then paused. He was fairly certain he hadn't made too much of a racket getting up there, but he listened for footsteps on the stairs for a few moments just in case. When nobody came to investigate, he eased himself down onto the small rooftop of the awning that extended over the back door.

The soft thud of his landing was fortunately not enough to rouse Emma's attention from the bouquet she was making. He gripped the edge of the awning with both hands and centered his body before leaning over just enough to keep Emma in his sight.

She must have been affected by the summer heat as well, because her hair was pinned up, with those ever-present few locks tumbling loose around her face and neck. Her blouse had shortened sleeves that exposed the milky skin of her arms. Connor couldn't help but think for a moment how they were almost opposites in their looks: she with pastel hair and ivory skin, and he with his bronzed tones and black hair. _I'm sure I'd look ever darker standing next to her_, he mused silently. As Emma continued to pluck flowers out of the soil, the assassin indulged a moment of imagining himself standing beside her. Not in a circumstance like breaking into her bedroom or escaping from a prison, but doing something nice for her for a change, like bringing her to a social engagement. _Not like I'd even know what to do._ Connor let out a sigh without really meaning to. _I've only ever seen those types of events from afar, and besides, Achilles told me a long time ago that people wouldn't accept someone like me in those kinds of circles._ Still, it was nice to imagine, even if it would only ever be real in his mind.

The sound of Emma getting to her feet shook Connor from his thoughts. She was humming, swaying gently as she moved further along the path to add daisies to her bouquet. Connor's throat went dry and his heart thudded against his ribcage. Why couldn't he keep himself from wanting to be near her? Why did he keep going against his mentor's rules and jeopardizing everything he had worked so hard for just to watch her pick flowers? Suddenly he realized how awful it would look if she caught him leering over her like a predator. He wanted to explain, he just… couldn't.

She was moving again, headed for the edge of the house where she would quickly be out of sight – that is, if Connor didn't keep up. Despite everything that had been going through his mind moments earlier, it was like he was being controlled by an external force that drove him to clamber back onto the main roof of the homestead and keep up with Emma's walk. The more he watched over her the more he felt uneasy; a strange kind of feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had only really felt before when Emma had jumped off that rooftop and landed in his arms. He remembered how she had taken a second longer to let go of him that was probably necessary and a smile crept across his lips, then immediately recognized his desire to hold her like that again.

It was like everything he had brushed off and pretended not to acknowledge or understand came crashing down on him in that moment, kneeling on the roof of Achilles' house. He wanted to pull her close and cradle her slight frame against his body. He wanted to be able to breathe in the scent that came off her hair and feel the smoothness of her hands hooked around the back of his neck. _Stop it, Connor_, he told himself, realizing that sweat had started to roll down the sides of his face and matt his hair against the back of his neck. _Why do you always have to want the impossible? Why can't you just be grateful for what you already have, and focus on the tasks you need to accomplish?_ But scolding himself didn't alleviate the feelings. He lifted a hand from where it was holding onto the shingles to wipe his face, but between that, wearing moccasins instead of his boots, and being distracted by the images of Emma racing through his mind, he lost his balance.

With a loud throaty yelp of frustration Connor felt himself going over the edge of the roof and reached out desperately to catch onto something. His hand grazed the eaves but he was falling just too quickly to get a proper grip. Falling through the air, he realized he was probably not going to be able to recover the fall, so the next best thing was to concentrate on landing in such a way to reduce the chance of breaking bones. It was only a two-floor fall, but the wrong landing could mean big trouble – and more trouble that just Achilles finding out about why Connor had been up on the roof.

A feminine shriek pierced the young man's ears just as he felt the ground come up underneath his body. Fortunately for him, the garden had been recently turned and so the soil was soft, and he had managed to turn in such a way to take most of the impact on his shoulder and the meaty part of his back. He would definitely be bruised, and Charlotte wouldn't be very happy about all the flowers he had crushed, but from what he could tell there was no lasting damage.

"Connor!"

He opened his eyes and saw Emma's figure outlined by the sun. His response came out as more of a grunt than any kind of coherent word.

"Are you alright? What happened?" There was a small pause. "Did you fall off the roof?"

"I… Yes." Connor decided he wasn't going to bother lying to her. There was no point in being dishonest at this stage anyway.

She was suddenly kneeling beside him in the dirt. "Can you move?"

"Yes… I'm alright," He blinked a few times and pushed himself into a seated position. Emma's placed one hand on his shoulder and the other on his chest, over his heart. Even in the heat of the afternoon sun, Connor felt goosebumps rise up across his body.

"What were you doing?"

"I was… Well… I was… uh…"

"Emma?" Charlotte's voice rang out from the back door. "Is everything alright? We heard a scream, are you okay? Did something happen?"

Connor bit down on his bottom lip, hoping that the maid didn't come further outside and catch him sitting on top of her daisies. He watched as Emma looked towards the door, then back down at him. She gave him a tiny smirk, and then looked back up.

"Oh it's fine, I just tripped and it gave me a scare! Sorry to worry you!"

Her reply was apparently good enough, because Charlotte didn't come out to investigate. Emma breathed a small sigh and then gave Connor a smile so stunning he thought his heart might have legitimately stopped beating for a moment.

"I know we're not supposed to be talking," She whispered, leaning close to him. "But I think I'd like to know why you were on top of the house… and how you fell."

"Well it was that…"

"Not here!" The blonde hooked both hands under Connor's elbow and tugged, indicating for him to get to his feet. Connor winced a little but tried to play it off like he was just squinting in the sun; he knew the pain would pass and he didn't need Emma seeing him in any sort of weak state. She looked to both sides of her, then pulled him toward the stables. He allowed her to guide him until they ended up around the back wall of the empty stable where Achilles' horse was usually tethered.

"This is unusual," Connor commented as they both took a seat in the grass.

Emma tilted her head. "What is?"

"All of this," He answered, bowing his head to hide the grin that was playing on his lips. "I've made a life out of hiding in the shadows and being stealthy, but never around my own home."

"Well I don't know about you, but I think you've gotten in enough trouble because of me. If we'd stayed in the garden Anne and Charlotte certainly would have heard us talking, and then when Achilles got home… well, I don't know what he'd do, but I can't imagine it would be very much fun, and I don't want that for you."

Connor lifted his head to meet her eyes. Her jade eyes were wide and bright, glistening in the daylight. He felt like he was about to be sucked into them, and in fact noticed that he had leaned forward a little bit. He quickly corrected his posture.

"Thank you."

"Now, tell me: why were you on the roof?"

"It… It's a bit hard to put into words," The young man took a deep breath and remembered that he was going to be honest. "I was in the upstairs hallway when I noticed you walking along the garden path. I…"

Emma smiled. "Yes?"

Connor fought to maintain eye contact. "I was… upset that I couldn't see or speak to you, I suppose. I felt like after everything that happened you deserved to know me as more than a shadow, or as a murderer."

"A murderer? Why would you think I would think that?"

"I… I killed four guards at the prison."

"Oh, hmm," She appeared to be thinking, which made Connor nervous, but the anxiety was pushed aside when the smile returned to her face. "You did it to save me, so I can hardly think you're a bad person for that. Anyway, I still feel like I don't understand how that landed you on the roof."

"I… I… wanted to be closer to you, but I couldn't just come down and talk to you with Anne and Charlotte always watching over you," Connor's resolve crumbled and his gaze dropped to his lap. "I was initially on the smaller roof on the awning, but then you were walking away, so I was walking along with you… just… on the roof."

"And how did you fall?"

The question came seamlessly, as if she hadn't even registered that he had basically been stalking her. That was enough to make the assassin raise his eyes to look into Emma's face again. She deserved that much.

"It was many things: the easy but not entirely truthful answer would be that I'm wearing moccasins instead of my boots and I lifted one of my hands to wipe my face, which threw me off balance. But the more truthful answer…"

He faltered. There was a long few moments of silence as he tried to conjure the words, any words, to try to explain what had distracted him enough to put him in danger. It was complicated. He wished he could show her his heart and the images that danced inside his mind. As if sensing his struggle to speak, Emma reached out and took hold of one of his hands.

"The more truthful answer is…?"

Connor swallowed hard. "Is that I couldn't take my mind off the moment a week ago when you leapt off that rooftop and I caught you. I just… was thinking… how I…"

"Wanted to feel like that again?" She finished for him. He felt his entire body go rigid, but Emma placed her other hand on top of the hand she was holding. She stroked his skin gently only a few times, but it was more than enough to make every muscle significantly relax. _Does she… is she saying… is this really possible?_

The sound of hooves hitting the hard ground made both Connor and Emma snap their heads to the side. Oh no – Achilles was back. The young man gritted his teeth as he wondered how exactly he was going to get out of trouble this time, but he didn't have to wonder long. Emma had already scrambled to her feet and he shot up next to her.

"If I distract him, can you get back inside?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"No but. I'll take care of Achilles. We'll meet again soon." She reached out and delicately brushed her fingers along the side of his face. Connor felt like he was on fire. He wanted so badly to do something, anything to show his affections, but she was already walking out to meet Achilles. His insides ached. _No time to think about that now. I have to move before I get spotted_.

Luckily, going without being spotted was something he had a lot of training in.


	7. Chapter 7

(A note from the author: I'm very sorry about the long hiatus on this story! I got wrapped up completing a novel and working and other adult-life-type things. To make up for it here's an extra long chapter! More to come soon, I hope!)

Chapter 7

Connor pressed his body up against the stable as Emma rounded the corner to greet Achilles as he dismounted. He listened carefully to their interaction, waiting for the moment that he could move without being spotted.

"Achilles!" Emma's voice was warm.

"And just what are you doing out here alone, young lady?" Achilles of course wasted no time being suspicious. "I thought I put you in the charge of Anne and Charlotte."

"Oh, well they're preparing dinner," She explained. "I thought I'd pick some flowers to the homestead, but we always have the same flowers from the garden. I wandered over here to see if there were any wild flowers that might look nice in the drawing room."

There was a long silence. Connor held his breath; Achilles was extremely adept at spotting a lie and Emma had no idea just who she was talking to. It wasn't as if either of them had explained the Order of Assassins to her, or the skills they possessed. He wondered if she'd still like him if she knew the person he was training to become. He leaned his ear against the wood to be sure he could hear Achilles if he decided to come looking around the back of the stable. Fortunately, he didn't.

"Well you should be in the kitchen," The old man finally said, though his tone was fairly gentle.

"Right away," Emma agreed. Connor could hear her footsteps heading back towards the house.

"Oh, Emma," Achilles called after her. "Have you seen Connor?"

"Not today," She lied flawlessly, even giving a little hint of confusion to her voice. "Why? Did you need me to get him for you?"

"No, certainly not," Achilles' footfalls towards the house were distinct, with the way his cane beat against the ground in time with his steps. "You just hurry along and help Anne and Charlotte, and I'll see you at the table."

Connor listened to her take a few steps more towards the homestead, and then suddenly she was approaching the stable again. _What is she doing? I can't find an opening if she keeps him outside_. He leaned around the wooden structure the tiniest amount, just enough to see Achilles facing away from him and Emma heading back.

"Achilles?" She said, her voice small.

"What is it?"

"I just wanted to thank you for being so kind to me."

"Oh, well, I couldn't very well leave you a fugitive on the streets."

Connor watched Emma get very close to him. "May I… give you a hug?"

"Err…"

Emma didn't wait for Achilles to reply before reaching up and throwing her arms around his neck. She pulled his already-hunched frame down a little in doing so, and had clearly strategically placed his head on her shoulder opposite where Connor stood. She had just created the opening.

Without hesitation Connor darted across the grass, leapt over the path directly into the garden – the path was covered in rocks and twigs that would make him easily detectable – and scaled the wall of his home. When both hands reached the second floor windowsill he pulled himself inside, careful not to make too loud of a thud lest the maids downstairs hear him coming in. Silently his moccasins slid across the floor as he rushed to pick up the rag he'd dropped earlier and continue cleaning as if nothing at all had changed. He listened intently to the sound of the back door opening and both Emma and Achilles entered the house. From the murmuring downstairs it seemed like dinner was almost ready.

"Connor!" Achilles' voice rang out loudly.

Keeping the rag in his hand, Connor headed towards the staircase, and then paused in front of the wood stove that was used to heat the upper drawing room. He quickly reached inside, coating his hand in ash, and then gently tapped his clothing to create the air that he'd done more work than he actually had. As he made his way down the stairs his wiped the still-dirty hand across his forehead, and finished by cleaning his hand with the rag.

When he entered the kitchen, it was clear that neither Anne nor Charlotte was particularly impressed by having someone so dirty so close to their food. Achilles noticed this quickly and shooed him into the next room, leaving Emma with the maids.

"You _look_ like you've been hard at work," Achilles tone suggested he was skeptical, but Connor simply shrugged without engaging. He figured the more he said, the easier it would be for his mentor to trap him in a lie, so he opted for silence at the moment. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Emma crossing back and forth across the open doorway, ferrying dishes and utensils to the table. He made a concerted effort not to let his gaze drift.

"It's been a week since your punishment began," The old man continued. "And you've been very well-behaved."

"Thank you." Connor figured thanks wouldn't hurt.

"Emma says she hasn't seen you at all today, is that true?"

Connor locked eyes with Achilles. "I was upstairs cleaning, as you requested."

"I see that," He gestured to the dust all over Connor's shirt. "It seems you're finally beginning to remember where your priorities lie. I realize that the punishment may seem harsh, but you don't belong near a girl like Emma. Any relationship – even the relationship between a pupil and his teacher – can be very dangerous for assassins."

"I know."

"Good. Now go change your shirt for dinner."

Connor turned on his heel, grateful that Achilles hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. As he was able to go back upstairs, the old man caught him by the wrist.

"One more thing," Achilles drew close. "I may have a mission for you tomorrow."

The young man felt his heart pounding hard against his chest at those words. After a full week of being cooped up in the house he would finally be able to get back into nature and, hopefully, into a mission that would prove dangerous and exciting to revitalize his assassin spirit. He flexed his wrist a few times, itching to wear his blade again.

By the time Connor had changed and washed, everyone saved Emma was seated around the dining room table. She was holding a stack of cloth napkins and walked around the table clockwise to distribute them, starting with Achilles and ending with Connor. She carefully lay each napkin beside a plate of food, and when she got to Connor, he noticed her gently nudge him with her elbow as she put it down. Achilles was already eating, staring down at his plate of food, so it didn't seem as though he'd noticed. Anne and Charlotte were having a quiet conversation on the other side of the table.

Connor pulled the napkin onto his lap, like Achilles had taught him to as a boy. Through the cloth he could feel something crinkle; a piece of paper? He quickly surveyed the table, and, when he was satisfied no one was looking, he slid the note out of the folds of cloth.

_Behind the stable, at midnight_ were the only words written on the small scrap of parchment, but they were more than clear. Connor took a long, deep breath to steady himself and not give away how exciting it was that Emma was requesting a secret meeting with him. As he began to eat, though he was barely hungry anymore, he considered that he must be extremely careful when sneaking out, as he didn't want to jeopardize the mission Achilles might give him the next day. Still, there was no way he'd pass up the opportunity to see what it was Emma wanted to tell him.

Under the cover of darkness, Connor rose from his bed and slipped into the hallway to check the grandfather clock at the top of the staircase. The time read 11:55, leaving him just enough time to get out to the stables for the secret meeting. He stared at Achilles' closed bedroom door for a long moment, listening carefully to be absolutely sure there was no sign of the old man getting out of his bed and discovering Connor's antics. When he was satisfied that Achilles was fast asleep, he snuck back into his own room and shut the door, wedging a small piece of firewood under the door so that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to open from the outside. He then stepped into his boots to be certain there would be no more slipping mistakes this time. Finally, he put on his coat to brace against the cool night air and climbed out of the window.

It was much easier this time to scamper over the rooftop and back down the other side of the homestead, and he was cautious to step in all the right places to make absolutely no noise. He landed soundlessly in the garden and made his way over to the stables, where he and Emma had hidden earlier that day. Much to his surprise, she was already there, dressed in her nightgown with a thin shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Connor's first instinct was to avert his eyes.

"You don't have to worry about being polite," Emma said with laughter in her voice. "I'm fairly sure we threw being proper to the wind when we both ended up alone outside in the middle of the night, especially when we were expressly forbidden from speaking at all."

She did have a point. Connor lifted his gaze up to look into her face. She was smiling a sort of excited, childlike smile, and he couldn't help but catch the feeling. He returned her smile in kind, and they shared a long moment of simply looking into each other's eyes, beaming. Eventually however, Connor couldn't contain his curiosity any longer.

"So… why did you ask to meet me tonight?"

"Come sit down with me," Emma plunked herself into a seated position on the grass, both legs bent elegantly to the side. Connor sat next to her, cross-legged. They both leaned up against the stable and stared into the sky.

"I guess I just thought…" She started, then hesitated, then continued. "You risked so much to save me, and to be around me, and I just think you should know exactly who you're doing all of these things for. We've been through so much together and yet we're still practically strangers. I don't like feeling that way with you. I want to know you, and I want you to know me."

Connor looked down at her, but she kept her eyes straight forward, staring out across the lake to the horizon. He had to focus on breathing; it was nerve-wracking being so close to her, and he wasn't sure what she was about to tell him. Was there some secret she had that he didn't know about? Was she going to leave? Or was this just an innocent conversation? All the questions made Connor's mind swim, but fortunately, Emma soon began speaking again, and her voice soothed him.

"I don't know if you thought to pay attention to it, but I lived with my uncle, not my parents. It seems unimportant probably, but there's a reason."

"What's that?"

A very serious look came over Emma's face. "Have you heard of the Brotherhood of Assassins?"

The expression Connor wore must have betrayed his thoughts, because a look of understanding suddenly washed over her. Before he could reply, she reached over and smoothed the lapel of his coat, fiddling with one of the buttons.

"You're an assassin, aren't you?"

"I…" Connor had no idea how to proceed. This was completely unprecedented, but if she already knew about the Brotherhood, could speaking to her about his training really do any harm? "I'm in training to join the order. Not quite an assassin yet."

"When I was in jail, the guards threw me in a cell. But then some other men came and moved me upstairs where you found me. I think they were Templars. They didn't want me harmed – at least not until they confirmed I was who they suspected – because, well…"

"What?" Connor turned his whole body towards her. "What is it?"

"My father is an assassin."

Connor felt like his head was spinning. He blinked several times to steady his vision and waited for her to continue, but she still wasn't looking at him. He wondered how she must be feeling right now. For an assassin to have a family… He knew it was possible – many master assassins went on to have children, obviously, or there would be no descendants of the bloodline – but Achilles had always been so quick to caution him about the risks of relationships, especially for an active assassin. He wondered what had happened to Emma's father that he wasn't here, protecting her. Why was she left so defenseless with her uncle? He couldn't help but ask.

"Where is your father?"

"I don't know," Her voice shook a little. "I haven't known for years. He was a powerful assassin in New York when I was a child. He and his 'team' had completely erased any Templar presence from the city. But then one night, when I was maybe ten years old, I woke up in the back of a carriage heading for the harbor. I was completely alone. When we stopped, the driver helped load me onto a boat where my uncle was waiting. He brought me to Boston and I haven't heard from anyone in my family since."

Connor's heart ached for her. If anyone understood the pain of being separated from a parent at a young age, it was him. Without really thinking, he reached out and pulled her towards his body, wrapping his arms around her tightly. After a few seconds she adjusted so that she could hug him as well. They stayed like that, entwined, for a long few moments.

"He must have sent you off to protect you," Connor muttered into her hair.

"I know he did," She was obviously trying to keep her voice even. "My uncle wouldn't give me details but I know he did it for a reason."

"But then…" Connor pulled away from her, to his great regret, to ask his question. "Why would the Templars be after you? If you left in secret, as only a child, how would they even know where to look for you?"

"I…" Her voice was weak. She wouldn't look him in the eye.

"Emma," Her name felt sweet on his lips. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

She looked at her lap. "I had a picture of him in my bedroom."

"I'm not certain I follow."

"When those guards broke down my door following you…" She looked up at him with tears shimmering in her eyes. "One of them, an old Templar allegiant, recognized him and they took me away for harboring a fugitive. Except… it was actually so they could call in the real Templars and keep me… for ransom."

Connor felt his breath catch in his throat at the horrifying news. It had been his fault she was captured, and now there was no way she could return to a normal life in Boston. They were all lucky the Templars hadn't come knocking down the doors of the homestead yet; the fact that it was built outside the city proper had probably bought them some time. However now that he understood the situation fully they were on a ticking timeline until someone caught on to start checking the areas outside the city and then they were in trouble.

Emma looked up at him expectantly, and he realized he had been quiet for far too long. The immense guilt he felt burned in his chest like fire.

"I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry."

She shook her head, sending a few tears rolling down her perfect pale cheeks. "I'm not angry. I don't even know why I'm crying. My life wasn't very good before you came along, and honestly I was sick of pretending to be someone different all the time. I always wanted to be an assassin, like my father, but I was never given the chance. Instead my uncle raised me to be a polite, proper lady. And I couldn't refuse because he had risked so much to help me. But now…"

"We're still working on getting him out of jail," Connor cut in. "I'm sure Achilles can figure some way to convince the guards…"

"Can't you hear what I'm saying Connor?" She placed a hand against his chest. "Even if he gets out of jail I can't go back to that life. Besides, the Templars onto us. If I don't want to be kept in a cage and my life used as a bargaining chip, then I can't be that person anymore. I don't even know if I'll be able to stay in Boston…"

Her words trailed off as she looked up at him, and they both soundlessly understood the gravity of what she was saying. Connor felt an aching pang in his heart at the realization that he might lose the first person to stir any kind of emotion in him since he'd lost his family and tribe. Emma must have noticed the panicked look because she quickly wiped her tears away with both hands and gave him a reassuring smile – or at least her best attempt at one under the circumstances.

"I'm not going anywhere right now," She said softly. "And besides, you hardly know me. How much could you really miss me?"

"A lot," Connor argued, taking both her hands in his. Her pale skin lit up under the moonlight, contrasting strongly with his dark pigment. Perhaps it was sitting under the stars, feeling his mother looking down on him, or perhaps it was the way they were alone at the edge of nature, but there was something in that moment that filled Connor with the strength and courage to speak his mind, finally, instead of simply stammering and stuttering under her gaze.

"I know we haven't really spent any time together, but there is a connection here that I can't simply let go. And it's not just a simple connection made by the two of us existing here, together, at the same place at the same time. It's a deeper connection, on the level of spirits, which draws us together the way the ocean meets the river. Maybe I'm wrong, but I think you feel it too."

Emma's eyes glittered with starlight. "I do."

Connor suddenly became aware that they'd been growing increasingly close together and was doing nothing to stop it. In just a few moments their foreheads would touch, and maybe even…

There was a loud banging, the sound of a fist on wood. Someone was at the front door of the homestead, knocking loudly. All of Connor's muscles went tense and he scrambled to his feet. Emma remained seated, frozen with wide eyes. There was no way that whoever was knocking on that door didn't bring trouble with them. Nobody knocks on strange doors in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, if it isn't trouble.

"Stay here," He instructed.

"No! Where are you going?" There was obviously panic in her voice as she grasped at his pants.

"Achilles won't be able to manage on his own if there's trouble," He explained, using the word "if" even though he knew for certain he really meant "will be".

"Then I want to help!"

"Are you crazy?" Connor realized he'd elevated his voice above a whisper and brought it back down. "There's a very good chance whoever is at that door is looking for you, and even if they're not, Achilles will surely be awake and if he catches us together then you'll be sent away. Please, just let me handle this one."

"Fine," She huffed, crossing her arms. "Be careful."

"I will."


End file.
